Soundless voice
by Resha04
Summary: He  didn't  cry, yet. And that was what he feared the most. "Aren't we always together as one?" Brotherly ItalyXRomano.


This fic is inspired from Hetalia doujinshi titled **Ajico** by **Tokimoon**. Some of the concept and some sentences are taken from that.

This fic is also inspired from the song** Soundless Voice **sung by** Kagamine Len.**

**I don't own Hetalia. **

* * *

><p><em>Aren't we always together as one?<em>

-soundless voice-

That morning was silent.

The cold weather had created a layer of mist on the glass of the closed window. A small tomato plant sat in silence on the window-sill, as though was watching the weather.

The espresso maker hummed on its place above the kitchen counter.

Everything seemed fine. Everything seemed normal. Everything seemed like any other normal day.

But the cup of coffee, still steaming, sat silently on the dining table, denied everything.

"Fratello?"

Italy wrapped his hands around his own cup of coffee, trying to get warmth from it. He stared at the cup in front of him. He could have sworn he heard, no, saw him sitting there.

But there was no one there.

And like that, everything seemed somehow wrong.

It was too quiet.

The window was closed (was it always like that?).

Something was missing around the small plant sat on the window-sill (wasn't there supposed to be something there? Was 'something' the right word?)

And the chair in front of him was empty.

Wasn't it supposed to be _someone_ there?

And he feared the worst.

-soundless voice-

"Why are there north and south to begin with?"

He stared blankly at the ceiling. His back set comfortably against the dining chair (made of wood. Dark brown like his hair, dark brown like Spain's, dark brown like _Grandpa's_). Romano liked that chair and hated it at the same time. It reminded him of the chair he used to sit on at Grandpa's house, swinging his short legs back and forth, with his trademark scowl and hidden hope in his heart, waiting for him to return.

_Though one day he stopped returning._

Veneziano stopped his humming and turned to see him. His soapy hands were holding another dish, white (like the robe they wore when they were still very young, when the world was still young, when he still thought there were just him and Grandpa).

"Ve? What is it, Fratello?" He tilted his head slightly to the side.

"Nothing." Romano shook and closed his eyes. "Just talking to myself"

Veneziano eyed him for another minute before let out a small concerned 've…' and returned to his chore.

"Why are there North and South to begin with…" he whispered, just audible to himself.

_If he never needed me from the start…_

-soundless voice-

Somehow, that morning everything was wrong.

The house suddenly felt too big (it was not) and too quiet (it was not supposed to be) for him. The sound of people rushing past the window felt like it was so distant and barely audible to him.

He knew he was not alone in the house, but at the same time he was.

And for the first time of his long life, Italy was truly scared.

He didn't like to be alone.

And he didn't like to be _alone without his brother_ much much more.

"Fratello…?" He trembled. His palms tightened around his cup of coffee, now had gone cold. Tears threatened to spill out from his eyes.

No answer. Everything was silent. Everything seemed _normal_.

Still, he didn't cry, yet. And that was what he feared the most.

He stood up, walked to the phone and dialed a number. His hand trembled around the phone.

"Hello?"

Warm voice greeted him from the other end. Somehow, it didn't calm him down like usual. He bit his lower lip, a single teardrop slid down his cheek.

"….Ita-chan?"

And Italy cried.

-soundless voice-

He had predicted from so long ago, that this time would eventually come. He had expected he would scream, or cry, or curse, or blame anyone in his line of sight.

Much to his surprise, he did none of them.

Much more to his surprise, he was unexpectedly calm.

Maybe he had forgotten how to be himself.

If he didn't remember, would the pain be eased even just a little?

_Yes, it surely would._

"Fratello?" Came from Veneziano, who sat just across him on the table. He could hear confusion (and was it a hint of fear?) in his voice.

He was going to answer, 'what, idiot little brother? I'm right here' when he looked down and saw his cup of coffee, _right through his own hands_.

The clock on the wall kept ticking, heaving the silence in the air. He stared and stared.

_So this is how it should be… isn't it?_

He lifted his gaze and saw his brother, his spitting image. Eyes wide and somehow he knew, tears were threatening to spill from them.

He wanted to say, "don't cry, Veneziano," but he knew all too well that he wanted him to.

So he just looked at him in silence.

He saw Veneziano stood up and walked to the hallway. He must be looking for the phone. So he stood as well.

He walked past the hallway (past Veneziano, past _Italy_) and to the front door. His hand stopped on the doorknob. He hesitated for a moment.

Quietly, slowly, he pulled the door open. And he stepped out to the cold world outside.

With that, he left.

_What did I leave, anyway…?_

He had _forgotten_ how to _remember_.

-soundless voice-

"I've never seen a country disappeared before, so…"

Hungary's voice trailed off. Her hand gently brushed Italy's hair, the small figure whose face hidden beneath his arms, sobbing quietly on the dining table.

Austria stayed silent. He stood leaning on the refrigerator, arms crossed on his chest. His expression unreadable.

"Enough…"

Both turned to look at the source of the voice. Italy's voice trembled as he spoke.

"I don't want this anymore…"

"Ita-chan?" Hungary was unsure what to say.

"Fratello," Italy just buried his face deeper.

Hungary bit her lower lip. Austria closed his eyes. Silence filled the air.

"Is it true?"

They, except Italy, turned to see Prussia standing on the hallway.

"Sorry for intruding and being late." He looked apologetic, genuinely, for once. "So, is it true?" His face turned serious.

Hungary turned his gaze back at the figure on the table. Still unmoving from his previous pose. Prussia followed her gaze and stepped into the kitchen. "Are you okay, Ita?"

A muffled voice answered, "I don't know."

Hungary shot Prussia a of-course-he-is-not-okay-you-idiot glare before her gaze softened again and she gently stroke the boy's head.

"Even though," Hungary took a deep breath. She wasn't sure if she should say this. "Even though the more powerful North was about to absorb the South, even then, he wouldn't disappear."

"But," Both Hungary and Prussia looked at him. It was the first time Austria had spoken since they came. "But if it's of Romano's own volition, then…" He left his words unfinished, avoiding everyone's gaze.

Hungary closed her eyes as she bit back tears. Prussia sighed, "That kid, he really is an idiot."

Italy's hands clenched harder on his own arms.

-soundless voice-

_Why did you leave?_

He sat silently on the bridge's stone railing, watching people with blank eyes.

"_**Where's Grandpa?"**_

"_**He left"**_

_**His eyes widened. Small fists clenched around the fabric of his robe. "Where?" (Why?)**_

"_**Don't know. He only said he went to see North"**_

"_**North?"**_

"_**You're South, aren't you? North is your brother."**_

"_**Grandpa never told me about that!" (What about me?)**_

"_**Don't know why."**_

"_**When will he be back?" (Why didn't you take me with you?)**_

"_**I don't know. Probably soon, probably years or centuries later."**_

_**Was it true that…**_

_You never needed me at all?_

He stood and walked away.

_Would it be better…_

He brushed past people without them noticing. Where would he go anyway? Why couldn't he remember a thing? Why _wouldn't_ he remember anything?

_If I was never with you from the start?_

-soundless voice-

He had run out of the house, Hungary's concerned voice followed him as he ran past the front door, snatching his coat on his way.

But no one followed him. Maybe Austria stopped them. Somehow, his former caretaker knew best what to do in times like these.

And Italy ran, brushed past people, ignoring their protests and curses. He didn't know where his feet would take him. But he kept running, tears on his face, but determined.

He stopped at the stone bridge to catch his breath. He was always a fast runner (they were always the fast runners), but this time his cry had drawn most of the breath out of him. He leaned against the railing and felt the cold seeped into his hands. It was indeed cold today.

"_**Veneziano!" He turned around and was thrown with an armful of a Roman man with armor and curly hair.**_

"_**Grandpa!" He giggled and wrap his own tiny arms along the man.**_

_**Grandpa Rome pulled away. His hazel eyes stared at him, a wide smile on his face. "You're so cute, Veneziano!" He pulled him in again, nuzzling his face against the other's.**_

"_**Grandpa, it's ticklish!" He laughed and tried to pull away. Grandpa released him, still smiling.**_

"_**You brothers are the same. Your brother always screamed the same thing!" He laughed.**_

_**Italy tilted his head, now confused but curious. "Brother?"**_

"_**Yes, your older brother, the South." His Grandpa grinned and lifted him in his arms.**_

_**His chest was filled with a giddy feeling, and he sounded his thought out. "I have a brother? A fratello?"**_

_**Grandpa laughed again and brushed his hair. "Yes. Are you happy?"**_

_**Italy nodded excitedly. "Yes, Grandpa! When can I meet him?"**_

_**Grandpa seemed to be thinking. "I don't know yet, Veneziano. But you will someday!"**_

_**And Grandpa's smile was so bright and wide that he smiled too.**_

Italy stood up, his breath had evened. He knew where to go. And he ran again, this time not intending to stop.

-soundless voice-

He was at the border. It _used to be_ the border. Somehow he knew.

He had walked back, to where it all belong, to where it all started.

"Fratello!"

He turned around at the voice. And he saw the mirror image of him stood there. Panting, with eyes full of tears, but somehow he saw right through him.

He couldn't see him.

_Everything transient, my voice, my life_

_Erase all of them_

-soundless voice-

He stopped on the border (it _used to be_). Out of breath and panting heavily. Tears streaming down his face.

"Fratello, you're there, aren't you?"

He choked back another wave of tears. His feelings were all too messy inside his head that he didn't know where to start.

He couldn't lie that he was happy when he heard he had a brother.

That he was hurt when they finally met and his brother acted like he didn't know him.

That he didn't feel all that sad seeing his brother (and him) was bullied by the other countries (at least they went through it together).

That he felt guilty for feeling that way when one night his brother walked to him with 'spare' bandages and bandaged his bruises while blushing and mumbling things like 'I didn't do it for you. I just happen to have some spare bandages and it's an eyesore to see you like this'.

That he felt really scared (he never felt it that great before, even when Grandpa died and he was left alone) when Austria said that his brother would be put under Spain's custody, away from him. _Far away from him._

That he felt a hint of jealousy when he saw how Spain handled his brother so kindly and patiently while Austria was always so strict and hard on him.

That he eventually felt _jealous_ when one stormy night he was so scared and alone (Holy Roman Empire had left) and he thought that at the other side of the sea, in stormy night like this, his brother would be hugged and told by Spain that it would be alright, that he was not alone.

That he often felt a pang of annoy when his brother yelled at him, hit him, or denied how he felt.

That he felt very happy (like he never did before) when they were finally united, how he had cried tears of happiness for nights after that, and how he had gripped Fratello's arms so tightly because he feared that it might all be just a dream and when he woke up they would be separated again.

That he felt so guilty (so greatly like he had never felt before) when he saw his brother, covered in bruises, bandages around his neck and head, eyes heavy with exhaustion, but didn't lose their fire as he stormed into his cell and pulled him into his arms, blurting out "are you okay? That potato bastard didn't hurt you, did he? Do you eat properly? You didn't get sick, did you?"

He wasn't oblivious of how his brother had suffered when German armies invaded and destroyed his cities. He had prayed and prayed and cried inside his cell, cried that his brother had to go through all that _alone_.

But when Fratello said, "It's alright now. Everything will be" he cried, cried so hard and soaked his brother's shirt wet, while his arms wrapped tightly around him, not wanting to be separated again.

He wouldn't lie that it was when he realized.

He loved his brother.

He couldn't live without him.

That's why he wanted to protect him.

He wanted to protect his existence as well.

And how today he was shattered, that he knew nothing of his brother, of his pain, of everything that he had hidden inside for so long, for _too_ long.

Italy cried. He let the tears out freely, openly. Because it was the only way he knew to rely his message, to tell his brother, his Fratello, how he felt. Everything was way too hard to be told with words.

He hoped he would understand.

He hoped he would come back.

_Say you're in pain_

_Say you're lonely_

_I'll find you wherever you are_

_Don't leave me alone…_

-soundless voice-

He stood there, motionless, as the figure before him fell to his knees, crying and sobbing uncontrollably.

He knew that figure. He knew him all too well. Or so he thought.

His brother was crying. He had never seen him cried like that. He didn't cry like that when he missed that potato bastard, or was captured by the British army, or when he couldn't tie his shoelaces, or when he was hit on his head by another country, or when they ran out of pasta.

He wanted to tell him "don't cry, stupid little brother", but he knew all too well that deep down, he really wanted him to.

He really wanted him to cry for him, even if just once.

_Grandpa left me for you, you know._

He was sad, he was heart broken, he was scared, he was _jealous_.

He had spent nights without Grandpa with tears and pain in his chest, muttering "don't leave me alone" like a prayer under his breath.

He had hated his little brother, his fratello, since they hadn't even met.

But he couldn't deny the feeling of sympathy (and guilt) he felt when he saw his brother, crying and covered in bruises (just like him) after one long day spent with being kicked and hit around by another country.

He couldn't deny the warm feeling in his chest when little North had crawled to his bed one night, asking him to sleep together since it was scary without Grandpa. Since it was scary to be alone, and he knew that all too well.

He couldn't deny a new wave of jealousy when he saw the way Spain looked at his younger brother, adoring him because Veneziano was cuter.

He couldn't deny that he finally felt truly jealous when he overheard the maids talking, that Spain had wanted to trade him for his brother.

But he couldn't deny that it was truly natural. His brother had been, was always better than him. He could paint, sing, sculpt, write, and clean so much better than him.

Because he couldn't deny that, that he felt really sad (like he never felt before). He would never surpass his brother, and because of that his jealousy would never go away.

But he also couldn't deny that he felt sympathy for his brother, when he heard that that Holy Roman Empire boy had left and that mean his brother would be alone _again_. Alone in the big house, in the too big room, in the stormy nights.

He couldn't deny how he was always annoyed at his brother's cheery and care-free attitude.

He couldn't deny that he was truly happy when they were finally united, how he had silently cried of happiness too without his brother noticing, and how he always stayed awake until late at nights because he feared that someone might come and tear them apart again, take his brother away from him again.

He couldn't deny that he felt really relieved, really glad, when he saw his brother in that potato bastard's cell, alive, a little tattered here and there, had lost some weight, but was _alive. _That when he complained how his shirt got wet because of his tears, he was actually crying too.

The feeling of jealousy was still there.

But his love for his little brother, for his Fratello, had won over it.

He wanted to keep his brother safe.

He wanted to protect his smile.

He wanted him to always be happy.

_In the end, I'm the one who don't know anything_.

He knelt down in front of him. But his brother was still crying. His body shook with his tears.

He (hesitantly) stretched out his arms, and slowly wrapped them around the crying figure. He stayed like there. Even if his brother couldn't feel or hear him anymore.

"I'm sorry, Veneziano." He whispered, burying his face in the other's hair, warm tears trickled down his face

_All these times, you had always been crying for me_

-soundless voice-

"I'm sorry, Fratello. I'm really sorry. I'm sorry."

He stuttered when he finally able to talk, but Italy wrapped his arms around his brother, so tightly, he would never let go. He feared that the quiet and white world would devour him, his brother, and took him away from him forever.

Romano was crying too now. He choked out words through his tears.

"Idiot little brother. I'm the one who should say sorry."

His mouth was dry, but Italy couldn't prevent a chuckle from escaping from his lips.

"Ve… We're funny, Fratello. I apologize, but you apologize too."

Romano smacked him lightly on the back of his head.

"You jerk, you ruined the moment." But he was smiling too, Italy could tell.

They stayed like there in silence, before Italy finally spoke again.

"Fratello, please, _don't ever leave me alone_." He hiccupped. _I don't want to be alone._

Romano's arms around him tightened. When he replied, his voice cracked, but his tone firm.

"I won't. I promise"

Italy managed a small, truly happy, 've~…' as a reply.

"So don't ever leave me alone too." Romano's voice trembled, his tone pleading, no matter how he tried to hide it.

Italy nodded so hard his whole body shook.

"Ve~… I won't, Fratello. I won't. That's a promise too"

Romano let out a sigh of relief before slowly pulled away. Italy was reluctant, he was still afraid, but he let go. His hands still gripped his brother's arms.

They looked at each other. Eyes red and face full of tear stains. But both were smiling. Two pairs of identical hazel eyes locked on each other.

"I'm sorry, Vene." Romano stroke his hair.

_For feeling all of that, for all that I've done, for not understanding anything about you, for leaving you alone._

Italy shook. "I'm sorry too, Roma."

_For all the feelings I've been feeling, for all that I haven't been able to do, for not understanding anything about you, for not being able to hold you close._

Romano stood, pulling Italy with him. A look of unsure in his eyes, but Italy understood.

"Ve~…! Let's go home, Fratello! We've made Austria-san, Hungary-san, and Prussia worried." He smiled a bright smile and bounced forward, motioning him to follow.

And Romano managed a small smile too, before he returned to his usual scowl.

"Tch… Why did you call them anyway, idiot little brother?"

"Ve~…. I was worried, Fratello!"

And finally walked side by side, Italy clung to his brother's arm, squeezed it lightly. He didn't need to say anything. Romano understood, and he let him be.

_Aren't we always together as one?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN**:

I made this fic in my spare time, and yeah, it has no real plot. I just want to (and tried to) cover how Italy and Romano might feel for each other during all the times they spent separately and together.

I tried to make them as "human" as possible. I just hope that this fic can describe that "human" part of them.

Italy is innocent and pure, but it doesn't close the possibility that he might ever feel jealous too.

Romano's jealousy and how he thinks Italy is always better than him has been obvious, but I want to show that he actually cares a lot about his brother. And the part where he felt sympathy for Italy (because HRE had left and all that), that is the thought that came to me once. I thought, Romano was left alone by his Grandpa, not wanted by anyone, and always be beaten by Italy in various things, but he finally (_finally)_ have Spain, someone who cares for him and accepts him the way he is. But how about Italy? While it is true that he's cute and much more likeable than his brother, the times he spent in Austria's house without Holy Roman Empire must be lonely.

As I said above, this fic is inspired from the SpainXRomano doujinshi titled **Ajico** by **Tokimoon** (I really feel the need to state this twice because I haven't even asked the author about this. Even some sentence are taken from it. *gulp*) and the song **Soundless Voice** sung by **Kagamine Len**. The doujinshi is so touching and deep, you should read it (especially if you a fan of SpainXRomano and brotherly Italy-Romano).

And, sorry if there are OOC-ness. I tried my best, but I'm not too sure myself.

I'm sure there are grammatical errors too, I apologize for that.

Thank you for you who read this, and who take time to review this. *hugs*

Reviews, critics, comments, and advices are greatly appreciated (but no flames please :) )


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